


I'm Pluto and You're the Sun

by ryukoishida



Series: Stars in Our Blood [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gundam IBO AU, Leoji Week 2017, M/M, gundam au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 01:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: He can lose a limb, lose his mind, lose his life, but Leo de la Iglesia is his and his alone, and he won’t let anyone lay claim on him — not Stella Veneris, not the higher-ups of Afanasiy, not even death itself. [Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans AU][Written for Leoji Week | Day 6: It's okay, I've got you.]





	I'm Pluto and You're the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> You don’t need Gundam knowledge to read this! And there are brief notes about the AU at the end of the fic.
> 
> Stars in Our Blood Series (in chronological order):  
> I. I’m Pluto and You’re the Sun [LeoJi]  
> II. The Space in Which We Travel [MilaSara]  
> III. Touch of the Martian Sun [Otayuri]  
> IV. Phobos and Deimos [Otayuri]

There are times when he forgets where he’s from — sometimes, Guang-Hong Ji thinks it just doesn’t matter.

 

Earth? Mars?

 

He’s lost in space and he’s been lost for years now. He’s stopped counting the days once he realizes, as he stares out the window of the ship — the vast emptiness of space, speckled with distant stars and planets and galaxies that have been invaded and left to rot, and endless others that humans have yet to explore and taint — there’s no end to _this_.

 

There are times when he feels removed from everything around him: the same soulless eyes of children who wander like him, the faceless adults who take them apart and put them back together again on the surgery table, the flashing glares of his display screens when he fires one shot after another behind a well-hidden spot as he takes out nameless enemies, the meaningless praises, the angry lashes that cuts his skin, makes him bleed, and then heals and scabs and everything starts all over again…

 

“Guang-Hong,” a gentle call of his name and a hand on his shoulder make him jump, fuscous eyes flittering nervously until he notices Leo de la Iglesia is looking at him with a worried frown. “You all right? We should get ready. Yuri and Mila are already at the flight dock.”

 

Leo pulls his arm back to his side, his other hand holding onto the railing to stay in place. The ship has shut off the artificial gravity mechanism — something they always do to reserve energy before a large battle.

 

“Guang-Hong?” Leo drifts closer, only a few inches between them, close enough that when Leo dips his head slightly forward, he can smell the sweet, poignant scent of shampoo from the younger pilot’s messy brown hair. He sweeps the boy’s forelocks away with careful fingers.

 

Waves of unease toil within those expressive eyes, and Leo’s heart twists painfully for the boy who seems as lost and hapless as the first day they met all those years ago. He hates that he’s the one who has to drag him out into the chaos that neither of them wishes to take part in. He hates it but there are orders that people like them — Human Debris, space rats, worthless except to be used as tools and experiments — are forced to follow.

 

It’s the only way to survive, the only way to keep going.

 

“Leo, will you—?” Guang-Hong’s mouth clamps shut with his cheeks flushed and the constellation of freckles dotting the bridge of his nose made more prominent. He turns his head away resolutely, his knuckles whitening on the railing with how tight he’s grasping it.

 

He’s still afraid to ask.

 

Leo’s gaze softens in understanding as he releases the bannister and allows himself to drift even closer; without another word or a trace of hesitation, Leo wraps one arm around the slighter boy’s waist and the other hand placed behind his head, fingers threading into his hair as he pulls him into his embrace.

 

Guang-Hong burrows his face into the crook of Leo’s neck, the halo of warmth an instant comfort that calms the violent storm of thoughts in his mind, the scattering shards of glass settling like dust as he breathes him in, a scent he’s learned to trust, to depend on, to love.

 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Leo murmurs into his hair, his arms tightening around the other pilot.

 

“I know,” Guang-Hong’s whisper is muffled, but his breaths against Leo’s neck brand deeper than skin.

 

Another brief moment of peace, and then Guang-Hong tears himself away, his facial expression and body language much more composed than a few minutes ago.

 

They make their way to the flight dock in silence, the side of their arms brushing against each other’s occasionally.

 

-

 

“Leo, how do you stand listening to that shitty pop music every time we do this?” Yuri Plisetsky, one of the youngest and brightest pilots in Afanasiy’s fleet, is growling irritatingly through the LCS.

 

“It helps me focus!” Leo protests while Mila barks out an amused laugh.

 

As he listens to his comrades’ squabble, Guang-Hong can clearly spot their enemies through the powerful scope of his sniper rifle from a safe distance and well-concealed location. He has already successfully shot down eleven of Stella Veneris’ mobile suits, which are mostly the weaker mass-produced Graze and Hugo classes.

 

Once Afanasiy’s ace sniper sees another straggling Graze that’s creeping up behind Leo’s Shiden with its war axe raised high above its head, his fingers instantly tighten around the control levers when he realizes that Leo is still unaware of the Graze’s presence as he’s trying to fend off three other mobile suits at once. He’s currently at a tense standoff during which any party can suddenly launch into an attack.

 

There’s no way to warn him, so Guang-Hong readjusts his rifle’s position, eyes straining to focus on the olive-green armor that’s about to strike his best friend’s mobile suit, and when the sensor locks onto the target and beeps rapidly in response, Guang-Hong releases a long, slow breath, and pulls the trigger.

 

The pilot of the Graze has no time to react or escape before a streak of blinding blue light assaults his vision: the first shot takes out the sensor-cameras mounted on the mobile suit’s head, and the next one strikes directly on its chest where the cockpit hatch is. A burst of light, sparks, and smoke engulf the wrecked Graze in a ripple of intense, roiling heat as it explodes like fireworks, the dispersed fragments of debris barely scratching Leo’s Shiden as he swings his retractable partisan in a horizontal arc, sweeping his enemies into one big pile of mangled metal.

 

“Thanks, Guang-Hong!” Leo shouts with a breathy laugh of exhilaration.

 

“Anytime,” the sniper sighs with relief, but the tiniest of smile grows along his lips nevertheless.

 

“They still haven’t sent out their best ones yet,” Mila Babicheva comments mildly through the LCS as she stabs a Hugo unit easily into the cockpit hatch using her assault knife with such swift and casual grace that the other pilot never even sees it coming.

 

“I’m bored! If that’s all the mobile suits they have, then what the hell are we raiding them for?” Yuri joins in the conversation with a complaint as he, too, shoots several rounds into the closest Hugo unit and only releases an exaggerated tedious sigh as he watches it explode.

 

“Maybe our boss just wants to wreck some havoc and strike fear into the hearts of those poor, innocent, little bandits from Stella Veneris. Put them in their place and such?” Mila suggests with a silvery chuckle.

 

“Guys, if you have time to chit-chat, maybe help me out over here?” Leo says as he warily pulls out one of his rifles when he spots more oncoming mobile suits heading in his direction.

 

“Be there in a sec, got myself a — holy shit, is that a Gundam frame?” the timbre of Mila’s voice gets progressively higher as a new mobile suit joins the battlefront.

 

Standing at almost twenty feet tall, with its metallic wings tinged blood red and ivory white that serves as its dynamic booster unit spreading out majestically behind it, the Gundam Zagan, crimson eyes gleaming eerily from its black and yellow armor, makes its presence known by brandishing its heat saber, the glowing pink-red blade emitting waves of thermal heat hot enough to penetrate and cut through the toughest metal like butter.

 

It wastes no time, swinging its sword in a quick and efficient swipe and cutting through five of Afanasiy’s units that have been trying to surround it in a loose circle in an attempt to entrap the Gundam. A ring of explosions and pink smoke conceal the mobile suit, and for a short moment, every unit from Afanasiy’s fleet freezes in place as they can only observe in awe the fraction of the power that a Gundam frame is capable of.  

 

“Of course, the bastards always fail to mention the most important part of a mission,” Yuri mutters after getting over the initial shock, his tone decidedly unimpressed, and Guang-Hong can vividly picture the blond-haired pilot rolling his eyes.

 

Even from this distance, the sniper can see the potential threat the Gundam poses for Afanasiy. Not only is the Gundam unit larger than most of the mass-produced suits that their organization employs, but if the rumors are accurate, then they are facing one of the most powerful man-made mobile weapons designed during the Calamity War era to combat against Mobile Armors that had once terrorized humankind.

 

As more of the organization’s fleet gather around Zagan, including Yuri and Mila who are simply overjoyed with enthusiasm for a challenging battle and filled with a bloodthirsty glee that makes Guong-Hong shudder, they all fail to notice the smaller Hugo units that begin to congregate around the few lone Afanasiy units on the outskirts of the battle zone, including Leo who is still struggling with several of Stella Veneris’ mobile suits.

 

Guang-Hong doesn’t have enough concentration or firepower to focus on helping the rest of the fleet secure the Gundam unit while also eliminating the enemies to protect his teammates. He has his own priorities, and Guang-Hong’s heart holds no regret or even a hint of uncertainty as he devotes his attention solely on the blue, white, and red armor of Leo’s Shiden and the alarming amount of Hugo units that are encircling it, like a pack of ferocious wolves ready to pounce on their prey.

 

Leo already understands the situation he’s in — has come to terms with the impossibility of pulling himself out of this mess by himself — and there’s nothing he can do but to fight in his best abilities, hoping for a miracle, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in anymore.

 

With an utterly horrifying serene state of mind that he seldom finds himself in, Guang-Hong takes out his targets one by one in successive shots: one beam slices through and separates a Hugo’s head from its body, another shaft blasts a unit into pieces. Again and again, he pulls the trigger with deadly accuracy and speed, and he’s grown numb of the consecutive flashes of glare from his monitors.

 

But just as the nightmares that haunt him almost every night, there’s no end to this. Stella Veneris just keeps sending out more and more units as if they had an unlimited army to spare; their pilots are probably just as disposable as the ones in Afanasiy, and for a blank second, Guang-Hong wonders again what the point of all this is.

 

They are born into this world, and for what? Used as weapons in wars that mean nothing to them, molded and mutilated beyond recognition until they, like the machines they pilot, break beyond repair, beyond their usefulness, disposed like the debris they were born to be.

 

Stardust lost in space.

 

Except…

 

Except he’s not alone. He’s lost, but he’s not the only one. And while life has been brutal and merciless ever since he started anew in Afanasiy, there has been moments of light and warmth, and the source of all that (dares he think of it as hope), the anchor of his heart whenever Guang-Hong feels like he may have lost himself to the ruthless storm created in his own mind, is Leo.

 

So when the sniper sees Leo’s Shiden sinks deeper and deeper within the web composed of enemy mobile suits, as horror seizes his chest and squeezes the air out of his lungs, Guang-Hong does the only thing he’s capable of.

 

He abandons his post, a temporary safe haven, and activating his booster unit on his back and the soles of his feet by flicking on the switches on his control panel, Guang-Hong treads on both pedals and clutches the control grips, driving his Hyakuri forward in a blast of bright, white light as he speeds past foes and comrades.

 

“Ji, what the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position this instant!” Someone is yelling furiously through the LCS — their team leader, a middle-aged man known for his foul mouth and fouler temper as well as his Spartan training method and dishonorable battle tactics, that nobody in the team actually respects.

 

Guang-Hong ignores him by remaining silent as he zips past any stray units and makes his way to Leo.

 

The others are too preoccupied with the Gundam to pay him any mind.

 

As a sniper, his Hyakuri is not designed for close combat, so he’s mainly equipped with a beam rifle that’s meant to be used in a stationary position because of its length and weight, but his only 100mm rifle currently comes in handy as he shoots at mobile suits that try to block his way.

 

“Guang-Hong! What are you doing?” Leo’s voice, tinged with panic as he bashes another unit with his partisan before drifting close to his friend’s Hyakuri back-to-back, rings into his headset as the sniper dives into the hive of enemies from above, awkwardly shooting in all directions. The majority of the shots misses their intended targets despite the proximity; he’s never been good in melee combats, and he’s been punished for it during the arduous training sessions.

 

“Lending you a hand?” Guang-Hong tries with a nervous chuckle. It’s been awhile since he’s this deep in a battle field, and seeing the seemingly endless sea of olive-green and sunset orange of the Hugo units spread out before him doesn’t exactly boost up his confidence.

 

He hears Leo laughing softly, the smoky sound almost concealed by the catchy pop song playing in the background from the ancient Compact Disc player — an Earth relic from the 20th century — taped to the control panel of the Shiden’s cockpit.

 

“I really appreciate the sentiment, but you know there’s literally no way we’ll get out of this alive, right?” his tone turns somber after that laugh, his heart contorting with a sickly dread that weighs heavy. It’s a sharp, painful reminder of their reality, of what they’ve just subjected themselves into.

 

“It’s okay if it’s with you,” Guang-Hong says with a resolved smile though the other pilot cannot see it. His timbre is strangely tranquil, like drops of cold rain running down Leo’s back, raising goosebumps on his skin, metal bleeding along his spine.

 

There are so many things Leo wants to say to him: “you are a romantic fool”, or “get the hell out of here”, or even “I love you but this is not worth it because I want you to live, hell I want _us_ to live”, and the overwhelming emotion is threatening to spill over, clumsy phrases and perplexing notion crystallizing, caught at the back of his throat.

 

“Here they come,” Guang-Hong warns when the few Hugos surrounding on Leo’s side begin to make their move, their guns raised in readiness as the tips of the muzzles glow an ominous blue that signifies their future demise.

 

Guang-Hong has removed the grenade launcher strapped to the back of his Hyakuri’s waist, and heaves the weapon onto its right shoulder as he prepares to take aim, his hands steady and fingers quickly dancing across the dashboard to ensure that he’s on target. One of these grenades, if shot at close proximity and aimed strategically, can deal a lot of damage — not enough to destroy the entire group that’s encircling the two of them right now, but just sufficient to create a smoke screen, a small exit, and precious seconds to escape from the enemy.

 

Leo seems to share his partner’s idea, as he himself is also adjusting the aim of his two rifles, one in each hand, to fend off anyone who hopes to interrupt Guang-Hong’s plan.

 

And when the first shot is fired somewhere to Leo’s left, followed by many, many others in all directions, their vision of the universe — once an endless void of darkness interspersed with flecks of nameless stars and planets and galaxies — bursts into a blaze of niveous white and iridescent smalt blue. The heat and whiplash throw Leo and Guang-Hong’s mobile suits crashing into each other in a graceless heap, metal limbs tangling, alloy armors scraping against each other and leaving scars, but they fight on: Guang-Hong launching grenades into the mass that continues to advance and Leo blindly shooting just for the off-chance that he’ll hit something.

 

“If we weren’t about to die, I’d say this is pretty damn fun,” Leo huffs into his headset with a forced laugh as he takes out two units at once.

 

“You have a warped sense of the concept of ‘fun’, don’t you?” Guang-Hong manages to bite out a chuckle, his eyes watering from the strain of having to constantly focus on the red, blinking circles that dominate his screens on all three sides inside his cockpit.

 

The layer of the circle seems to be thinning, or at least that’s what Guang-Hong thinks, though through the thick curtain of pink and white smoke, it’s difficult to tell left from right, or up from down. All the sniper can tell and feel reassured about is Leo’s presence close to him, the unidentified pop track playing in the background stream into his ears like a steady heartbeat that keeps them moving, breathing.

 

Their shields are falling apart from all the shots they manage to block, and Guang-Hong is running low on ammo. If they don’t get out of this mess soon, it’ll really be the end for them.

 

Guang-Hong doesn’t want this to be the end. Not yet.

 

When the smoke finally clears, Guang-Hong yelps excitedly, hazel eyes widening when he spots an escape route where a slew of wrangled metal and broken robotic limbs are floating aimlessly from previous explosions, “Leo! An opening — your five o’clock!”

 

“Got it!”

 

Guang-Hong begins to make his way towards the breach but halts shortly when he notices the red dot on the gridded screen that signifies the location of Leo’s Shiden remains static.

 

“Leo? What are you doing? Let’s go!” the pilot’s usual quiet tone is shaking with adrenaline when he turns back.

 

“You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you,” Leo tells him, and even as the words trickle out of his mouth, he knows it’s no use. He can shoot and shoot and shoot, but the truth is, the Hugos just continue to advance when the front-most line of defense has fallen and is replaced by the next set of units from behind.

 

“Liar — you’re such a terrible liar, Leo,” Guang-Hong mutters angrily, shifting his control levers so that Hyakuri’s hand is reaching out for Shiden’s upper arm and pulling him towards the direction of the gap as quickly as he can before it’s closed up by more enemy units.

 

“Let go, Guang-Hong!”

 

“No! We’re getting out of this together!” he yells into the LCS, unshed tears — from fear, frustration — blurring his vision, abolishing his logic. He refuses to leave his friend behind; he refuses to let go of the one person who can make him laugh, make him care.

 

It’s a selfish wish, but what’s wrong with being selfish once in a while? Lord knows he’s spent enough time hiding behind the safety of his sniper rifle, enduring insults and curses and punches thrown at him on an almost daily basis.

 

He can lose a limb, lose his mind, lose his life, but Leo de la Iglesia is his and his alone, and he won’t let anyone lay claim on him — not Stella Veneris, not the higher-ups of Afanasiy, not even death itself.

 

With only a few feet separating them from death and freedom, Guang-Hong turns pale when he hears the incessant warning beeps that wail urgently as one particular enemy unit — a customized Graze painted in obnoxious purple and yellow shades, probably a commander type — chases after them with impeccable speed and recklessness, a bazooka gun aiming for them both, now a much larger and easier target since they’re moving together.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Guang-Hong mutters in dismay, hazel irises darkening as he shoves his feet against the pedals on the floor as far as possible. The boosters on his mobile suit’s back stutter a little before flaring to life in a brighter spark of white-red light, and he projects a little swifter, but with the Shiden in tow, they are not going as fast as they hope and the Graze is gaining onto them in only a few seconds’ time.

 

The red circle honing in ever closer is only two feet away, and the shots that Graze’s pilot is firing is getting more accurate as the unit ventures dangerously nearer.

 

When at last, the Graze has also run out of ammo, the pilot pulls out a beam sword, and Guang-Hong knows, his instinct and reflex crawling from the sensors of the mobile suit to his own bloodstreams through their shared connection of the Alaya-Vijnana system implanted on his spine, that the Graze will first strike his closest target — the Shiden with Leo inside — in the hopes that the explosion will drag Guang Hong’s Hyakuri to its grave.

 

And he’s right. He hates it when he’s right.

 

The Graze raises its sword with both arms, and at the moment, with no available weapons or a dependable shield, Leo is as vulnerable as a single soldier on a wide, flat field where both sides are opening fire at the same time.

 

With the momentum they have, Guang-Hong maneuvers around while still being able to push Leo’s mobile suit ahead of himself, putting himself between the Graze and the Shiden like a shield. Both of them know fully well that the Hyakuri is in no condition to protect anyone either, with its armor half-way to being shattered and some of the sensors already broken and rendered useless.

 

His chest burns, and Guang-Hong realizes belatedly that it’s due to his heart beating so fast, the muscle thrumming viciously against his chest, biting into his ribs as his respiration becomes shallower as if he’s forgotten how to breathe and he’s choking on air.

 

The hot white-blue glow of the beam sword flashes across his screen, and he can hear Leo yelling his name through the crackle of his headset before his world snaps off in a violent rattle, the monitors flickering with static until they black out, the lights on the control panel glimmering for a few seconds before they, too, shut off, leaving Guang-Hong in a void of darkness.

 

Before Guang-Hong can even consider trying the emergency ejection system, the Graze’s next strike rips chunks of Hyakuri’s torso apart. The walls, the floor beneath him, and the ceiling of the cockpit hatch are compressing all around him, the distorted metal frames stabbing through in all directions. One twisted rod lodges itself into his upper arm, the angle narrowly missing his neck, another grazes his lower abdomen just deep enough to cut through his suit and leave behind a long gash, and he can feel the sharp snap of broken bones in one of his legs where metallic plates are crushing his limb.

 

Glass shards from the monitors rain all over him, and in the darkness, Guang-Hong can faintly hear the music in his headset still blaring from the Shiden — something about “growing trees” and “roses in bloom” — and he remembers, even as his mind tries to process the pain that his body is undergoing, that this is one of Leo’s favourite songs.

 

He has once said that the lyrics reminds him to hold onto the present, to cling to life, because only then can they witness and experience the beauty around them.

 

The rivulets of blood run down his arm and lower body, soaking his suit. His eyelids feel heavy, his entire frame exhausted from hours of battle; he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and let himself drift off.

 

And for a very short moment, it seems like he’s about to let go, but a series of vibrations shake him awake, and a huge explosion that must have happened very close to what’s left of his Hyakuri because the force is enough to knock him backwards against something sturdy.

 

“I can’t believe you left us out when you guys are having so much fun over here,” Yuri whines in mock annoyance, swooping in and taking down enemies on both sides with his dual swords as he nonchalantly makes for his comrades’ direction and joins them in the center.  

 

He has single-handedly slashes the commander-type Graze in half by the waist, and Leo is able to retrieve the torso piece of Hyakuri that contains the pilot inside the hatch.

 

“I thought you guys are taking down the Gundam frame. What happened?”

 

“Who gives a damn about that?” Mila retorts in a low mutter, and then asks, her usual blithe and playful voice filled with genuine concern, “Is Guang-Hong okay?”

 

She moves in synchronization with Yuri’s mobile suit to take out two more enemies with precise shots. Shaped like a crescent moon, Mila and Yuri are acting as shields for the other two, and with their added power, they are able to pull back to a safe distance far enough away from the frontline and into their own safety zone.

 

“I-I don’t know…” Leo is still in shock, sweat drenching the inside of his pilot suit and streaking his tanned skin, and eyes wild in panic when the reality that his best friend has taken a hit for him finally sets in.

 

“Guang-Hong! Guang-Hong, do you read?” Mila tries.

 

“Oi, Guang-Hong! Time to wakey-wakey!” Yuri’s irritation melts into a hint of unease despite his rude turn of phrase.

 

No answer.

 

“Guang Hong…” Leo is able to find his voice again after the initial shock, and when he releases the hatch, a mess of ripped wires and jagged metal, and lets it float before him, the pilot only just becomes aware of how much damage Guang-Hong must have received in that instance he’s decided to protect him from the Graze.

 

The mangled hatch looks just like any other piece of scrap metal found hovering eerily in past battle fields they always come across whilst travelling. Leo doesn’t want to imagine what the inside of the cockpit would look like — doesn’t want to think about the lifeless body of the boy he’s grown to care about, or the possibility he’ll never hear his voice again.

 

“Guang-Hong, please…”

 

If there was a god — if he still believes in one — Leo would pray.

 

The LCS is dauntingly silent on the other end as the three young pilots wait with bated breath.

 

A series of static crackle, and then—

 

“It’s…it’s okay, Leo,” a croaked whisper gasps out, breaths laborious as Guang-Hong swallows back a groan of agony, “I-I’ve got you.”

 

“You’re delirious,” Yuri snorts, and though he tries to laugh it off, it’s obvious to everyone that he’s relieved to hear his comrade’s voice, “we’re the ones who’ve got you, idiot.” He says it in his fondest tone of voice.

 

“Guess you’re right.” Laughing is having hundreds of needles simultaneously piercing his lower abdomen as blood continues to flow in a steady stream, but Guang-Hong wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

 

“Let’s get you back to the ship,” Mila comforts him, and she flies ahead to join Yuri as they lead the way, “just hang in there, sweetheart.”

 

Guang-Hong hums, too tired to say more.

 

“Just so you know, I hate you so fucking much right now,” Leo mutters, tears streaming down in hot streaks that he can’t brush away while he’s still wearing his helmet. Now that they’re away from danger and he can think clearly once more, Leo finally allows his defense to slip.

 

Guang-Hong’s eyes crack open with difficulty, a corner of his lips twitching into a shaky smile, “I saved you and that’s the thanks I get?”

 

“If you pull something like this again next time, I won’t forgive you.” There’s a hint of humor threaded within the warning, but the truth is that Leo won’t be able to forgive himself should anything happen to Guang-Hong.

 

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” is Guang-Hong’s snarky reply.

 

“I won’t let you,” he insists.

 

And there’s so much more Leo wants to say to him — words and sentiment he’s been afraid of expressing or acknowledging to his best friend, a glimmer of light in the dark tunnel of their future — and he’s finally found the reason to say them.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve read to the end, I want to thank you, because believe me, it was never my intention to write that long-ass battle scene, like. My head hurts from writing this (no regrets though, never any regrets). It’s also 1:40am after editing, so if I miss anything, please forgive me.
> 
> **Definitions (within Iron-Blooded Orphans Universe):**
> 
> \- Gundam frames: A series of 72 mobile suit frames that were produced and developed by Gjallarhorn (an international peacekeeping force) during the Calamity War 300 years ago; the Ahab particles generated by the two Ahab Reactors within each suit give it a lot of powers, which can be burdensome on the pilot’s body since man and suit are connected through the Alaya-Vijnana system.
> 
> \- Alaya-Vijnana system: A man-machine interface implant that improves a pilot’s spatial skills and reactions while piloting a mobile suit. There are two parts: one is implanted into the pilot’s spine (called “whiskers”), and the other is built into the mobile suits. The surgery to get the implants is risky and many have died during the process. 
> 
> \- Mobile suits: A type of mobile weapon that is a humanoid combat vehicle. I.E. Giant robots that people can pilot even in space. 
> 
> **Extra notes for this AU:**
> 
> \- Guang-Hong has 2 Alaya-Vijnana implantations done. His Hyakuri unit is painted black with magenta highlights.
> 
> \- Leo has 1 implantation done. His Shiden unit is painted blue and white with red highlights.


End file.
